


Alphabet Soup

by Pixial



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixial/pseuds/Pixial
Summary: Hanzo and Jesse's relationship from A to Z.





	1. A is For Ass

**Author's Note:**

> Hanzo and Jesse meet. They are both asses. Jesse's POV

This was a bad idea. Nope, scratch that. This was a _terrible_ idea. An idea so awful that it made boots and ankle socks look like something Einstein-level of genius. Jesse huffed and tapped his foot as he watched the shadowy movement of his partner fly from where he’d concealed himself, chasing after the same asshole that had so _graciously_ given him his new tin-can attire. Jesse may not have known this “Hanzo” fella, but he still remembered what he did to his own kin. He’d been part of the team that retrieved Genji, and it _still_ gave him nightmares. Inner peace or not, there were just some things that called for some good ol’ fashioned revenge.

“Why’m I here anyways?” he growled under his breath, wishing he could smoke. Unfortunately, stealth meant no noticeable lights or smells, and even more unfortunately, he knew the answer to the question.

Genji was his friend. One of his oldest friends. He remembered meeting him in Overwatch as an angry, bitter kid with a chip weighing thousands of pounds on his shoulders. Jesse had empathized. Anger and bitterness had been his bedfellows as long as he could remember. Overwatch had helped in the form of Gabriel Reyes, and Jesse had tried to do the same for Genji Shimada. He may not have been as effective as he liked, but at least they’d gotten on, even gotten into a few scrapes of the teenaged variety. 

Jesse shook his head, rubbing the joint of his elbow where metal meets flesh. It was still so hard to believe that the boy so full of rage left to find his own path and returned so… Gentle. Peaceful. ‘Course, after meeting that master Zenyatta of his, Jesse was starting to accept it. 

That didn’t mean he had to be happy about his friend risking his life to talk to the man responsible for his attempted murder. He huffed again and hunkers down his little out of the way corner of an alley, wishing he’d worn a heavier coat. It was _spring._ Why in tarnation was it so damned cold? 

He’d almost worked himself into a rather nice pity party when blue and green lights flashed behind the walls of the Shimada Castle, throwing the silent night sky into an explosion of ethereal fireworks. He knew what those meant; Genji had raved about the Dragons when they’d first extracted him. It was the Shimada superpower or something, just what, Jesse could never fully understand. He just knew it was bad, and if they’d been summoned…

“Aw _hell_!” He'd told him. Jesse had fucking told him this is a shit idea!

And two months later, it was _still_ a shit idea, _especially_ with Hanzo Shimada standing at the gates to Watchpoint Gibraltar looking two steps from flying back down the road. 

And yet, _somehow_ Jesse wasn't shooting the bastard. Because Genji stood beside him and looking more of hopeful than he'd ever seen him. And even Jesse couldn’t bear to see that expression fade.

“Brother…” Genji said softly as he approaches Shimada the elder who managed to both shrink away and draw himself up with something little like the shadow of pride. He wasn’t bad looking-- oh alright, he was a fucking supermodel, Jesse admitted. Apparently there was truth to the dangers of pretty packages.

They spoke quietly, murmuring in Japanese, and Jesse contented himself with glaring bullets at Genji's brother. Genji might've forgiven him, but Jesse still remembered the fury. Someone had to, it seemed. 

He was drawn from his attempts at intimidation by the sound of his name. Genji turned back towards him and beckons him close. 

“This is Jesse McCree,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “One of our finest, and a dear friend.” He elbowed Jesse after a moment, and Jesse reluctantly offered his hand to Shimada.

“Charmed,” Jesse said as pleasantly as possible, though there was a steely edge to his voice that promised a wealth of misfortune should anything untoward occur. “A pleasure to meet the _infamous_ Hanzo Shimada.”

For a brief second, Shimada hesitated, a look of… Hurt? Resignation? Hidden in his dark eyes. And before Jesse could begin to question if he even saw it, the flash was gone, replaced with a haughty glare as Shimada took his hand.

There was no denying the tension between them. Jesse knew what Shimada did, and Shimada knew he knew. Their grips were far too tight to be friendly, and if looks could kill, they'd both be on the ground. 

Beside them, Genji sighed.

Shimada broke the staring contest first, removing his hand from Jesse's with a frown. “You need my help more than I thought, if this is the best you can offer,” he said, and Jesse had to fight to keep his face firm despite that deep roll of a voice, like thunder on the edge of a storm. It was beautiful and terrible and damn why did it suit the bastard so well?

“What can I say?” Jesse said with as charming a grin as he could muster (which was quite charming indeed, thank you very much). “I got a reputation to maintain. Can't go disappointin’ my fans.”

All that earned him was a scowl and grunt of clear dismissal. 

Genji, for his part, just shook his head at the both of them. “Hanzo, Athena will guide you to your quarters. I will… Meet you there?” And there was that bit of hope again, the one Jesse couldn’t find it in his heart to deny.

Apparently the same held true for his brother. Shimada's stern eyes softened with a sort of pain Jesse knew all too well, and seeing it on his face made Jesse’s heart twist into knots. “Of… Of course,” he said. His hand twitched at his side, not quite making a fist. “Until then.”

Jesse watched him stride away, feeling a hint of guilt for his behavior. That guilt magnified as a metal hand smacked into his shoulder.

“Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder as Genji glared at him through the mask. “What the fuck, Genji?”

“What the fuck, Jesse?” Genji repeated. “I asked you here to _greet him_ , not to assert dominance or whatever the fuck that was!”

Jesse flushed and ducked his head. “I admit. I might've gotten a bit carried away.”

“A bit? I thought I was going to have to break you up with a water hose!”

Jesse huffed in offense and pulled a cigar from his belt. A cigar that was promptly snatched away before it can make it to his lips. “Dammit, Genji!”

“Shut up. You shouldn't smoke so much anyways.” The cigar vanished through some sort of ninja sleight of hand and Jesse mourned its loss.

With a click and a hiss, Genji took his mask off to face Jesse fully. “Please, Jesse. Give him a chance?” he asked. “Despite… Despite our pasts, he is still my brother. Please remember that?”

Jesse sighed, knowing full well this is an argument he would never win. “... Alright. I'll go easier on him. He's still an asshole, though.”

“He is in good company on that.”

Jesse opened his mouth to retort. Then closed it. “Alright. That's fair.”


	2. B is for Booze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple o' messes drinking their sins away. Or something like that. Hanzo's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning for suicide ideation. Nothing happens, but Hanzo goes to a dark place for about two paragraphs.

He had known that it wouldn't be easy, trying to fit into a group of heroes at the behest of his suddenly-not-dead brother in order to atone, but there were times Hanzo wondered if it was even worth it. Would it not be simpler to demand Genji take his vengeance in the traditional way?

But no. He had tried, in the beginning, to insist, but the look on his brother's face had been enough to stop him cold. So he arrived in Gibraltar where he promptly made his first enemy of the illicit Overwatch.

Granted, he had not intended to make friends, though certainly some of the younger members were genial. Hanzo wasn't sure if the young Korean girl knew his sins, but she certainly was personable and refused to take no for an answer. So far, he'd been party to three streams and all but forced at gunpoint to take up the mantle of Pit during a Smash tournament.

Genji, of course, was a constant source of.... Many things. Agony. Relief. Frustration. Comfort.

It was a lot. It wasn't easy. And when Hanzo felt himself close to shattering, he ran away, hidden among the concrete towers of the Watchpoint. with his ever filled flask at his hip. He squirreled himself away in the corner of a rooftop where he could watch the waves crash against the unforgiving cliffs and drink himself to oblivion with no one the wiser.

Of course, he had not taken into account that he wasn't the only one with problems to escape.

One night, (Or perhaps early morning? In his state of inebriation, Hanzo could no longer tell) the soft thud of boots echoed behind him. Hanzo tensed, preparing to leave as soon as he was able but a voice roughened with exhaustion stopped.

"Nah. Just... Don't bother," said McCree, plopping himself down next to Hanzo. A muted clink against concrete proved the cowboy had his own coping mechanism in hand. "Figure we're up here for the same damned reason."

Hanzo gave him a quick glance. He looked as rough as he sounded, dark circles dragging at his eyes and hair a wild tangle. McCree lifted his bottle to his lips and took a long swig. The bottle was already partially empty.

Hanzo didn't know much about McCree other than Genji loved him as a brother in arms (a thought that stung slightly less with multiple swallows of sake in his stomach) and that McCree distrusted him.

_With good reason,_ he thought as he drank from his flask. Hanzo wouldn't trust himself, either.

McCree was an enigma to be sure. There were whispers of covert ops, and Hanzo himself had heard his name more than once from contacts and others who walked the same shadowed, bloodied paths he did. The only reason he hadn’t looked into collecting McCree’s bounty himself was a general disinterest in flying to America. 

But meeting the man? He had not been expecting a literal caricature of _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly._ (And just which _was_ McCree anyways, he wondered idly.) McCree looked far too flashy, far too ridiculous, and far too genial to be one of the deadliest men around.

And yet, the facts simply did not lie. Hanzo shook his head and drank from his flask, not wanting to puzzle out the behaviors of a man who hated him.

Silence reigned for a long while, each of them alone with their burdens. Hanzo did not know what ran through McCree's mind, nor did he particularly care. He had his own things to worry about. 

Such as why the fuck he was still bothering with this pretense at heroism. It was honestly unexpectedly kind of Genji to forgive him and all, but he didn't deserve it. If he truly cared about atoning for his mistake, he'd fling himself into the sea below and be done with it. Let the waves wash away what mere blood and sweat couldn't.

He could almost imagine it. Simply.... Stepping off the edge, letting the wind rush past him. It'd hurt, but not as much as a lifetime of knowing he'd tried to murder the only family that had ever truly mattered.

"'Ey. Shimada."

Hanzo opened his eyes, realizing he'd been on the verge of dozing off. McCree was looking at him with a gaze that was far, far sharper than it should have been with most of a bottle of whiskey behind it. Tension boiled in those eyes; whatever had dragged him out here into the lonely night was breaking loose.

"Shimada. You. Are a fucking asshole. And a son of a bitch. And I really really want to hate you."

Hanzo blinked. Maybe McCree _was_ as drunk as he'd thought. "Uh."

"No. Lissen. You're a fucking mean ass snake who tried to kill his kin. But so'm I and I was an ass to you earlier. I don't like you, don't wanna like you, but we're in this shithole together and I don't have any fucks left for a grudge. 'Specially when we're cut from the same sorta hell."

Well. This was... New. Unexpected. Hanzo took another drink to stall for a response. "So you're saying you don't like me, but you're willing to... Work with me? Because you believe we're the same?"

McCree looked almost relieved at that. "Yes. Thank _God_ I thought I was too drunk to make sense."

Hanzo snorted at that, alcohol loosening his lips. "You don't even when you're sober," he said dryly.

"I make plenty sense. You just don't listen well enough. I talk in circles on _purpose_."

He had no reply to that, so Hanzo just shook his head. McCree seemed to take that as a concession. He smiled, clearly addled and more than a bit blinding. Hanzo's heart stopped for a brief moment.

There was no person on earth with a right to have that handsome a smile. Hanzo decided to ignore it.

And he successfully ignored until he and McCree finally parted ways, drunkenly shambling back to their own quarters as the sun began to crest the horizon. It had been a surprisingly... Enjoyable was the wrong word, but Hanzo felt lighter after the night's conversation. Once McCree had torn down the ice between them, they had simply... Talked.

They each had stories. Past exploits, different bounty jobs. Random people in the business they had both apparently known. McCree was a good storyteller with a flair for dramatics and just the right amount of embellishment. He'd made Hanzo laugh more than once, and each time he did, he'd grin with that damned smile.

Hanzo did his best to ignore it, but as he flopped down onto his bed, already regretting the morning to come, he couldn't help but see it as he closed his eyes.


	3. C is for Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go wrong and routines are disrupted.

To say things got magically better after their drunken heart to heart would be a significant lie. Hanzo still struggled to find his place in Overwatch and make amends with his brother, and Jesse still didn't like him one bit.

But, little by little, things got better. Or so Jesse figured, at least. Hanzo was a veritable demon during training sims in a way that got Jesse hot under the collar just remembering, and Hana somehow managed to snag his company on multiple occasions for her streams and movie nights and whatever else she had up her sleeve. The strangest part was that Hanzo didn't actually seem to mind.

Not that it was any of Jesse's business, of course. Like he'd told the man. He had no interest in liking him, but it was pretty damn hypocritical of himself to condemn the man given his own past. They were coworkers and nothing more.

Well, coworkers and drinking partners. Somehow their little heart to heart had become something of a regular "thing," carving out its own slot on their personal routines without either of them quite realized it. They drank in silence for the most part, until one or the other decided to clear the air. They'd argue and insult each other, then laugh, then gab the rest of the night away before stumbling back to their rooms.

Unfortunately, the trouble with routines is that they tended to get disrupted.

It was Hanzo's first field mission under the Overwatch banner with Jesse as his supervisor. An anonymous tip had come in regarding a potential Talon raid on a caravan carrying some rather explosive materials. Winston managed to wrangle access to the caravan with the help of Fareeha's Helix contacts, and so Jesse and Hanzo found themselves at the helm of a truck carrying over 700 pounds of various temperamental chemicals.

"I don't like this," said Hanzo, breaking the silence of the past three hours. Jesse would have startled if he wasn't so focused on _not crashing_.

"What's making you twitchy? The convenient tip, the fact we are literally driving a powder keg, or the fact that we're the only ones on this road?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something twitch on Hanzo's face? Had he missed a smile, an actual human expression beyond a scowl? Damn.

Hanzo huffed. "All three, if we're being honest. That tip was too specific, and we are far too open here."

Jesse grunted in agreement. He'd felt a bit wigged out by that tip since Winston handed him the mission parameters. But if things were on the up and up, they needed to keep the truck and its contents out of Talon's possession.

"Hey, Lena, see anything on your scanners up there?" he asked in the vague direction of the radio.

It crackled for a moment before her cheery voice came through. "I've got nothin' up here, Jess. Just you guys and a whole lot of empty road for miles."

"Empty?" Hanzo asked, leaning forward and digging his tablet out. "There should be more traffic... Agent Tracer, isn't there supposed to be a rather busy interstate crossing over not too far down the road?"

"Uh. Now that you mention it...."

"It might be prudent to--"

Jesse didn't find out what Hanzo thought would be prudent. He'd already begun stepping on the brake when the world exploded.

The truck came to an abrupt halt as it slammed into something distressingly and invisibly solid. Jesse had a brief moment to thank God for seatbelts and airbags before the distressing, invisible, and solid thing shivered in thin air and became visible. No less distressing, but at least they could now _see_ the giant fuck-off wall someone had placed in their path.

Or not a wall. A tank of some variety. Jesse and Hanzo clambered out of the cab as turrets rose from the tank and took aim. More vehicles shimmered into existence, soldiers armed to the teeth pouring from them.

Hanzo shot first, a scatter arrow downing four men. Jesse drew Peacekeeper and took out another six with a fan of the hammer. 

“Lena, we could seriously use some back-up here!” he called, dodging a literal bullet as he ducked behind the crumples hood of the truck to reload.

“We're on our way! Just hold on!”

“Doin’ our best, doll, but _hurry_!”

He peeked out above his cover, wincing as something zinged by him with enough force to blow his hat off his head. “Hey! D’you fucks know how expensive this thing is?”

Predictably, the answer came in the form of more bullets.

“Focus, McCree!” Hanzo snapped, firing arrow after arrow. Each one hit their mark, but the enemy kept coming in their nondescript black body armor that practically screamed Talon.

The wind picked up as the drop ship drew close, but it only drew fire.

“There's too many! I can't land to extract!” Lena's panicked voice came through on the comms.

“Then I will attempt to clear the way,” replied Hanzo as he leapt out from cover and scrambled to the top of the truck.

Jesse tried to reach after him. “What the _fuck Shimada_!? Get back here!”

Hanzo ignored him and the enemy fire both. He aimed his bow with an almost casual air, and with a thunderous burst of Japanese, his arrow shot forth in an explosion of light and sound. Death screams followed soon after.

“Thanks, luv,” Lena said. The drop ship thudded to a landing. “You boys best hurry. Winston says to blow the truck once we're clear!”

“On it.” Jesse scooped up his hat, put another three bullets in some lucky folk that escaped whatever the hell Hanzo did, and booked it towards the waiting ship with Hanzo on his heels. No sooner had they practically slid into the carrier did the doors shut and the drop ship took off.

“Well that could have gone better,” Jesse said, panting for breath as he leaned on the wall. “Everyone okay?”

“In theory,” Lena said. She pressed a button and flicked on the autopilot before standing to greet them. “Truck's dealt with. Are you two-- Hanzo! You're bleeding!”

Jesse whirled to look at his companion. Sure enough, Hanzo's gi was staining red with alarming speed.

“It is nothing. Just a graze,” he said. His ashen face spoke a different story. 

“Shit, alright. You sit down,” Jesse ordered. “Lena, get us home _now._ ”

“On it!”

“I am fine. I have survived worse,” Hanzo insisted. He still slid into a seat, breathing shallow. “I just… Need some rest…”

His eyes slipped close, and Jesse started to panic.


	4. D is for Donut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo wakes up to a gift and a face.

Hanzo woke slowly. It took far more effort than it should to crack his eyes open, and even then all he could see was a painfully bright, white light that hummed just on the edge of his hearing.

_Fluorescents_ his brain supplied. He was no longer on the dropship, then. And judging by the poor excuse of a pillow under his head and the heavy smell of antiseptic, not in his room either.

Medical ward then.

He frowned and forced himself to full awakeness. Medical ward meant he was injured. Injury meant a visit from Dr. Ziegler. And Dr. Ziegler, while the top of her field and a brave woman to whom he owed his brother’s life, was someone Hanzo was honestly terrified of.

_“So you're Genji's brother,” she'd said when he first met her for his physical. “I’m the one who brought him back, you know. He says all is forgiven, and I am inclined to take him at face value. That being said…” She fixed him with a steely glare and held up a tongue depressor in a manner that had no right to be that threatening. “Should any of my agents end up like that at your hands once more, I guarantee you will live just long enough to regret it.” And then a smile, the kind a cat might give a mouse. “But for now, it is my duty to make sure you are fit for yours. Say ‘ah.'’_

Needless to say, Hanzo did his very best to be a model patient from that point forward. His old doctor was likely rolling in his grave with envy.

He winced as the light hit his face fully, and he must have made some sort of sound for the good doctor was at his side as soon as he began to sit up. 

“Absolutely not,” she said, firmly keeping him down on the bed with a strength that spoke of years of dealing with stubborn military types. “You were shot. Twice. It is a miracle you're awake so soon. What do you remember?”

Hanzo sighed, knowing it would take a sterner soul than his to sway the doctor. “We were ambushed and overrun. I used the dragons to clear a path for Agent Tracer. We escaped and… I assume I lost consciousness?” 

Dr. Ziegler nodded as she tapped a note into her tablet. “Good. No memory loss. You were hit in the thigh and shoulder. Blood loss was significant, but fortunately Agent McCree was able to keep you stable long enough to get you home.”

Hanzo did his best to hide a wince at that word. Home was something denied him. This was merely a place.

Based on the sudden, brief look of sorrow on Dr. Ziegler’s face, he apparently didn't conceal the thought as well as he hoped.

“With some rest, you'll be fine in a handful of weeks,” she said. “For now, are you up to receiving visitors?”

“I… Suppose?”

Dr. Ziegler nodded and opened the door. Hanzo expected to see Hana or Genji on the other side, but instead, McCree walked in with a small box and a sheepish expression.

“Uh. Hey.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. Whatever this was, it was going to be interesting.

McCree rubbed the back of his neck. “Look… I ain't much good at this shit, so here.” He set the box down on the nightstand. 

“What kind of shit?” Hanzo asked before he could stop himself. He opened the box, and four very pink, very sugary donuts awaited him.

“Apologies.” McCree sighed and pinched his nose. “Look. I haven't exactly been friendly, and I know I said I wouldn't let my personal feelings get in the way of work, but then you went and saved my fucking life and shit…. And so… Yeah. I'm sorry for being an ass.”

Hanzo stared at him. This was…. Unexpected. “So… These are….”

“Apology donuts. Genji said you liked sweet things, and Hana may've mentioned something about pink and so…” McCree turned redder with every word.

“Thank you.” Hanzo surprised himself by smiling at the cowboy. “And… I apologize as well. We did not start off on the right foot.”

McCree smiled like the sun peeking through the clouds-- sudden and bright. “Reckon so. Wanna start over?”

Hanzo grinned and grabbed a donut before offering the box to McCree. “Hanzo Shimada. At your service.”

Jesse chuckled and grabbed his own treat. “Jesse McCree. Pleased to meetcha.”

“Oh no did Hanzo hit his head?” Hana peered into the room. 

Hanzo snorted. “No. We are merely… rectifying a mistake.”

She sagged against the doorframe with a sigh. “Thank _God_. Are you two friends now or are you going to continue pretending to hate each other?”

“Uh.” McCree and Hanzo looked at each other.

“Friends.” Hanzo said finally, eyes still on McCree.

“Friends.”


	5. E is for English

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night conversation and some seriously weird clothes.

Jesse yawned and stretched, wincing at the various pops and cracks his body made. Late nights and insomnia were old companions, but damn if they didn't take their toll. He was too old for this shit.

Still he was already awake. He might as well see about getting breakfast going. At… 3:12 in the morning. 

Well, he'd had worse nights. No harm in at least getting a snack.

Jesse pulled on a pair of well-worn sweats and socks and took one look at prosthesis before deciding he plum didn't want to deal with it.

He padded his way down to the kitchens. The light was already on, which wasn't particularly usual. Most of the team had their own issues with sleep. He'd run into Torbjorn and Reinhardt on multiple occasions.

Turning the corner, he stopped in the doorway, blinking with mild confusion. The kitchen looked… Different. Cleaner, and the cabinet above the fridge was shut for once -- a miracle given how many boxes of chips and assundries were stuffed up there.

Jesse stepped inside, feeling something akin to awe. Whoever was responsible for this had actually managed to get rid of the red splotch on the wall from the Great Pasta War from the _first_ Overwatch. He'd never seen this room look so damned clean.

He let out a low whistle and then a yelp as something hit the wall beside him with a wet smack. Hanzo leapt up from behind the table, armed with another sponge and ready to throw.

“Wait! Hold up! It's me!” Jesse waved his arm in a vague gesture of surrender.

Hanzo sagged, the sponge slipping from his hand to the table. “McCree.”

Now that he was no longer in danger of a soapy demise, Jesse moved to the fridge. Damn. Hanzo'd even cleaned that. “Sorry for startling you, partner. Just… Couldn't sleep.”

Hanzo ducked his head with a bit of a flush and took a seat. “Neither could I, hence….” He waved around the kitchen.

“So you clean a room that hasn't been truly _clean_ in almost ten years?”

Hanzo shrugged. “It is repetitive. I find it soothing.”

“Fair enough.” Jesse grabbed an armful of sandwich supplies and began assembling them on the table. “Do you want one while I'm-- What the actual fuck are you wearing?”

Hanzo snorted and leaned back, giving Jesse a better look at the faded tee shirt he was wearing. He knew that logically the man had to have something other than his gis, but…

“WHAT'NT GONE BE NOBODY'S COOL” proclaimed the black shirt in eye watering pink text.

“The fuck does that even mean?”

Hanzo chuckled. “I honestly have no idea. I bought it while keeping a tail on a mark, and I've kept it because it makes me laugh.”

Jesse shook his head and slid a plate with a sandwich towards the other, who took it with a nod of thanks. “‘S definitely a conversation starter,” he said, sitting with his own sandwich.

“It is at that. Genji and I used to have entire closets of these things. They’re somewhat popular. Our father despaired every time he saw them.”

He fell silent, staring into the middle distance, sandwich held limply in his hand. Jesse turned his gaze to his snack-- he knew that form of nostalgia well. Bitter and fond all wrapped in regrets and if-onlys. 

“.... How's… How's all that going, by the way?” he asked hesitantly.

For a long moment, he thought Hanzo didn't hear him, or was going to ignore the question. But the archer sighed and rubbed his temple.

“It is… Going. Confusing but I think… I think it has been going well?” He sounded unsure, looking far more vulnerable than Jesse had ever seen him. Jesse throttled the urge to reach over and pat his shoulder.

“That's good to hear. Reckon it's not an easy thing.”

“No, but it has been good. I think it is starting to sink in that I truly have him back and that this isn't some elaborate form of vengeance.”

Jesse snorted. “He's never been that subtle. Black ops or no.”

“No. Even as children, he was more fond of…. Flashier techniques,” Hanzo shook his head, hinting at an old argument.

“It's called misdirection, Hanzo. And of that, I am a _master._ ”

Both men jumped, improvised weaponry in hand as a voice sounded from the door. Genji leaned against the door frame sans mask and wearing the biggest smirk. 

And pastel pink hoodie with even more nonsensical text-- something about manly fucks.

“Really, you two?” he asked, grin stretching wider. “No situational awareness at all during this little tête-à-tête? Or were you two too lost in each other's eyes?”

Hanzo reacted before Jesse could make any protest, and a wet _thwap_ resounded in the room. His sponge slapped Genji in the face, hanging for a moment before flopping to the floor.

The ninja gaped at his brother with an expression of pure affront, and Jesse couldn't help but burst into laughter.


	6. F is for Firefight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo and Jesse team up against unfortunate odds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter is when I have to actually start writing again. So I am not sure when the next update will be?

“Looks like our backs are to the wall, eh, sugar?”

“Save your breath. I intend to win this fight.” Hanzo glanced over at his partner, who somehow still managed to beam at him despite the sweat beading his brow. His hat was missing-- fallen somewhere beyond their flimsy cover crate.

They were the last ones left Genji had taken a shot while distracted by a stunt from Lucio, and the musician had been knocked off a wall and was down for the count. And Lena? Well, the less said about that, the better.

So it was up to the two of them.

“Didn't say nothin’ about losing,” McCree said cheerfully.

Hanzo scoffed and readied his weapon. The enemy would be advancing, and they were both running low on ammunition. They needed to put an end to this.

“Come out, you varmints!” called a voice on the other side of the room. “We know you rascals are in here.”

Hanzo and McCree shared a look of mutual confusion. Rascals? Varmints?

“Hana, what the fuck?” McCree called out, peeking around the crate only to duck as a vividly pink paintball whizzed by his head to splatter the wall next to him.

“I'm being sinister,” Hana replied. They heard her step closer. Other footsteps fell in near here. “You guys might as well surrender now. It's three on two. You’re still outnumbered.”

Hanzo and McCree shared another glance.

“Only three, eh?”

“Hardly a challenge.” 

With that, they burst from cover. McCree ducked under a blast from Mei, hitting her with a yellow splatter of paint. She cried out and threw herself dramatically to the ground as Athena called out her demise.

Hanzo rounded another crate, firing his rifle at Zenyatta. The omnic blocked his first shot with a sphere, but the second slammed into him. Athena called another death.

“Looks like it's two on one now, doll,” McCree said with a salute. “Care to surrender now?”

“Not a chance!” Hana dodged, shooting wildly. Hanzo was forced back to the wall. 

“Do not underestimate her,” he warned. Hana was fast. This would be tricky.

“High and low?”

“Of course.”

“Wait, what--” Hana broke off with a squawk as McCree swept his leg out, knocking her to the floor as Hanzo clipped her in the shoulder with his shot.

“Game,” chimed Athena. “Winner: Team 2.”

Hana groaned from her spot on the floor. “What the fuck, you guys? We had team advantage!”

“One’s an assassin and the other’s black ops,” Genji said, walking in with an arm slung around Lucio and Lena. “And I’d say your little honeypot trick was unfair, but honestly I’m proud.” 

“We had to take one of you out somehow,” Lucio said, patting Genji’s arm. “I can’t help it if I’m so irresistible.”

Hanzo snorted and reached out a hand to help Hana and Mei up. The biggest shock since finding out Genji was alive was finding out Genji was in a stable and healthy relationship. But he liked Lucio, and he made Genji happy. Hanzo was at peace with that.

The group trekked towards the locker rooms with good natured banter, and Hanzo found himself holding back, watching his coworkers as a strange feeling fluttered in his chest. 

“You okay?” asked a voice next to him. McCree fell into step with him, natural as breathing. Hanzo found he didn’t mind so much. 

“I am fine. Just….” He gestured towards to team crowded around the sink, washing paint out of skin and hair.

“Overwhelmed?” 

Hanzo looked at McCree in surprise. He kept forgetting that the man was far more astute than he affected. “Not… Exactly. But yes. I think… I think I missed this?”

“I hear ya.” McCree put a hand on his shoulder as he passed him by. “For what it’s worth, we do good together. This was fun. We should do it again.” 

Hanzo resisted the urge to put his hand over the warmth still left on his shoulder and answered McCree’s grin with one of his own. “We should.”


	7. G is for Gambling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poker night!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I haven't played poker since I was like... Ten. Please have mercy.

The tension was high. When Lúcio had suggested a friendly game of poker during downtime, he obviously hadn't expected it to take off with so much… Ferocity.

But, Jesse reflected over his unfortunately abysmal hand, that was the consequences of gambling with outlaws, thieves, and vigilantes. 

He looked across at the table, gauging his chances of a bluff. Lúcio made a good attempt at serene neutrality, but his eyebrows furrowed at the cards in his hand. Genji, damn him, still wore the mask, but he hadn't quite mastered the twitch in his fingers that wanted to curl into a fist. Angela had already folded, shaking her head in disgust at what she proclaimed to be a foot rather than a hand.

Hanzo, though…. Hanzo was as impassive as stone and just as unreadable. Maybe this game, Jesse would actually have a challenge.

“Raise,” he drawled as his turn came around, tossing a not insignificant pile of chips to the center. 

Lúcio groaned and set his cards on the table. “Not for me, sorry.” 

Genji deliberated for a long moment before sighing and slowly lowering his own hand. “I forgot how much I hate playing this game with you,” he said mildly, sitting back to watch the remaining two players.

Hanzo just raised an eyebrow. There was more than a hint of a smirk hidden in those dark eyes, and he wordlessly threw in a raise. 

Jesse grinned broadly. “Well now,” he said as sweet as honey, “someone's feelin’ mighty lucky. Raise again, sweetheart.”

His opponent snorted. “And someone is feeling ‘mighty’ overconfident,” Hanzo retorted. “Very well, if that is how you desire it.”

Like the spark that created a wildfire, that was all the challenge they needed. Back and forth they went, the others stepping back to avoid getting caught in the whirlwind of half-serious taunts and possibly more serious flirtations as Jesse and Hanzo slung chips into the pot. 

They were evenly matched. The winnings bounced between them as they played. Jesse couldn't remember having this much fun in a poker game since he'd left Blackwatch, and from the sharp grin that never quite left his face, Hanzo was enjoying himself as well. 

And if Jesse lost a hand or two on purpose just to see that grin grow a little wider, well no one would be able to tell. 

Eventually the game wound down, slowing with both booze and the late hour. Jesse and Hanzo were the last ones at the table.

With a laugh, Jesse tossed his cards on the table. “A'right, I'm gonna call it. I'm drunk as a skunk an’ too old for all nighters.”

“Admitting defeat so easily?” Hanzo asked, his face pink from the exceptional bourbon they'd opened between them.

“Nah, not defeat. A temporary retreat, ‘s all.”

Hanzo snorted and picked up the cards, putting them in a neat stack. “Very well. We shall have to resume this later.”

They stumbled back to their rooms, bumping shoulders and giggling. As Jesse turned to leave Hanzo at his door, a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

“McCree… _Jesse_ ,” Hanzo said, the smile on his face growing a kind of soft that had Jesse's heart aching with a strange sort of joy. “Thank you for this. It was enjoyable. I… Goodnight.” 

He shut the door, leaving Jesse slack-jawed with a flutter in his breast. He shook himself and made the rest of the way down the hall to his own bed.

And if he spent the night dreaming of that shy little smile and rough laughter, well again. That was no one's business but his.


	8. H is for Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit more serious. Old ghosts come back and rock the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

When Hanzo arrived at the shooting range, it was empty. Normally this wasn't a cause for concern, but he and McCree had something of a standing appointment. 

And it wasn't like McCree to miss out a chance for some friendly competition.

Hanzo frowned at the empty space before gathering his bag and stepping out to look for his errant companion.

He heard McCree long before he saw him, his voiced raised with something too painful and sharp to be mere fury. Hanzo quickened his steps. 

Something _slammed_ and echoed through the halls. Hanzo ran.

He skidded to a halt at the hangar entrance. McCree looked far more than worse for wear. His metal fist was in the middle of a sizeable dent freshly made in the hangar wall, and he was practically snarling at a pair of people Hanzo had only seen on posters.

_Jack Morrison and Ana Amari…_ The shock of their apparently continued existence flickered through his mind but took a paltry second place to the distress etched on his friend's face.

“Y'all shoulda just _stayed_ dead,” McCree spat before turning on his heel and storming out, almost knocking Hanzo over in the process.

Hanzo glanced at the two ghosts, noting their own shock before following McCree. He didn't know them; they were unimportant, especially when his friend looked two steps from doing something rash.

Unfortunately, his friend had considerably longer legs and something of a head start.

Still, Hanzo had at least a reasonable guess as to where McCree might run. After all, there were few places that offered the proper sort of privacy required for crises of life.

He found him in the place they had first spoken and drank together, slumped and leaning on the wall, face in his hands and a half-empty whiskey bottle hanging precariously in his grip. Ragged sobs shook his shoulders, and the sound tore at Hanzo's heart.

Hanzo stepped forward and sank down beside him. For a long moment, there was nothing but the wind and McCree's tears.

“Don't… Don't think I'm the best company at the moment,” McCree said. “Might wanna move along fer now.”

“No.”

“I'm serious, Han. I don't need the judgy stares right now.”

“I have not come to stare, nor judge,” Hanzo said as gently as he could. He raised a hand, hesitating briefly before placing it on McCree's shoulder. “Merely to sit.”

McCree fell silent again. Hanzo held out his hand, and the McCree passed the bottle to him. He took a swig before handing it back.

They passed it back and forth for a long while. Hanzo wanted badly to find the right things to say, the words that would ease the pain that seemed permanently carved on McCree's brow. But he had never been the nurturing sort. Or if he had, the instinct had withered to nothing.

But he could sit. He could be here in this place, standing vigil for his friend.

McCree sighed finally, the bottle long empty. “I didn' mean it,” he said, voice rough and soft and _broken._ “I just… I spent _years_ mournin’ the only family I ever cared about. I did my damndest to keep fightin’ for what they taught me in their stead and… And… And they're still…”

His voice faded, and Hanzo's grip on his shoulder tightened.

“I guess… I dunno. Feelin’ a lotta shit right now, and I ain't anywhere _near_ ready to start sortin’ through it.”

“I have it on… Decent authority that these things take a while to deal with,” Hanzo offered.

McCree snorted. “Been talkin’ to that monk of your brother's?”

“A bit. Zenyatta is… Odd. But I cannot deny that his methods have results.”

Shaking his head, McCree leaned back against the wall. “... I'll think about it.”

He stood, stretching and collecting the empty bottle before offering his hand to Hanzo. Hanzo took it and found himself tugged up and into an embrace.

He barely had time to comprehend the sudden warmth before McCree pulled away.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I know huggin's not your thing but… Thanks, Hanzo. For… For bein’ here.”

Hanzo smiled and pat McCree's shoulder. “There is nowhere I would rather be.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally for the McHanzo Big Bang, but I needed to drop out for stuff. I don't want to abandon the fic, so I'll post what I've got and as I go along.


End file.
